


A Crack in the Mirror

by tiniest_hands_in_all_the_land



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, Fear of Abandonment, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I can't think of things to tag but if you think something should be tagged let me know, Introspection, Jealousy, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 11:45:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13950897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiniest_hands_in_all_the_land/pseuds/tiniest_hands_in_all_the_land
Summary: “Everyone likes him... And everyone wants him...” Meowth breathes out another long sigh. “And suddenly... You're wonderin' why anyone puts up with a scumbag like you.”Some insight on the aftermath of the Alolan Meowth episode





	A Crack in the Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! Here's a smaller fic to indulge in. Sorry for another damper one, but I've had this idea roaming around in my head ever since the Alolan Meowth episode was announced. Admittedly, this one's partly ventfic and mostly I-wanted-this-to-happen-in-the-episode-but-it-didn't-so-now-I-have-to-write-it, so it's a bit heavy. Not GoS heavy, but just a bit.
> 
> Like I said in the tags, this can be read as Mimikyu/Meowth, but it's not... really? I dunno--I don't really like mixing angst and romance together, but for some reason the only shippy ideas I have with these two are angsty ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ So perceive it as you will.
> 
> For some god-forsaken reason, I decided to put a helluva lot more effort into this fic's art than any of my other fic art. So uh. Enjoy that I guess.
> 
> I have a few other oneshots in the works (hopefully not all depressing lol) and I hope to get them out relatively soonish. Til then, I hope you enjoy this mess

When the screen goes black, the room takes a collective moment of silence. The moment lasts for a good ten seconds, with a single, mutual thought running through each one of the Rockets' minds:

 

_ 'What a prick.' _

 

The silence ends once Jessie dissolves into a fit of shrieks. She yells to the monitor, to the crafty cat who is no longer on the other line, cursing him for playing them for fools and cursing Matori for 'stealing her darling pokemon away from her'. She screams and flails and pounds her fists on the console and her foot on the floor, her rage surely leaving dents.

 

James manages to qualm her storm, shedding some reasoning light that her threats fall on absent ears, and that she is wasting her energy. So she breathes, and calms herself to the point of which the only act of anger she can surmise is the act of kicking the tiny trash bin into the ceiling (which, unfortunately for her, rains all of its contents around her).

 

Jessie's reaction to such a turn of events is mellow compared to Meowth's.

 

Even minutes after the call has ended, the cat stares daggers through his reflection in the black screen, teeth grinding together so hard, he is breathing out dust. His visage stares back with clenched fists and a wavering gaze, stance trembling with rage even as it struggles to stand stock-still. Wobbuffet, ever the brave and compassionate one, chances laying a hand on his shoulder, asking in a meek voice if he is alright. But Meowth tugs away from his grasp. He makes his way over to the counter, swipes up the discarded Z-Ring and crystal, and stomps out of the base.

 

Mimikyu watches him go. It's not the tenseness of Meowth's form or the scorning look in his eyes that conveys to the ghost that something is dreadfully wrong—it's the distinct lack of words as he departs.

 

The cat stalks his way far into the forest, far from the hideout and far from any prying eyes. Looming dimly behind, the sun shines its last few rays before it dips underneath the horizon, painting the sky in some odd, murky mixture of sangria and rust. A bit unpleasant to the eye, especially for the picturesque twilights Alola is known for. But the only mind Meowth pays to the dying light is the hand he puts in front of his eyes to shield them from the glare.

 

The thought of returning to the Oranguru's bar forces its way to the forefront of his mind. Drowning his sorrows in alcoholic fruity drinks sounds so appealing. Perhaps drinking himself to unconsciousness, perhaps to death; either result suits him just fine.

 

The reason he doesn't is that he is sure that the Oranguru has had enough of his temper tantrums for a week. That, and the business he feels the need to take care of is that of a much more personal matter.

 

He stops at a clearing nearby the ocean, close enough to hear the waves crashing into the rocks on the other side of the cliff, far enough that the wild pikipek scatter upon the arrival of an unfamiliar face. Meowth grips the fake Z-ring tight, the cheap plastic imprinting in his skin. With a sharp breath, he slides it over his wrist and maneuvers the dark crystal to fit into the two worn pieces of tape. He secures it in place to the best of his ability by pushing down on each of the strips, forcing them to stick to the rock.

 

He bites his tongue, trying to recall, with as little anger as possible, just how the Z-pose went. His counterpart flashes in his mind, smug face so perfectly content and natural as he swoops his paw across the air in an arc, then brings both arms up in a parallel formation to form an impromptu Z. Meowth forces a breath out, shaking the image from his mind of how impressed Jessie and James were at the demonstration, and tries to copy the motion.

 

The arc he makes is too quick and too gawky. With a grunt, he tries again, this time pushing past his self-nitpicking, and forces himself to complete the whole pose. But something doesn't feel right. He is doing something wrong.

 

His eyes lower to the visage of his form, and he realizes with contempt that he is doing  _ everything _ wrong. His feet are not spread far enough apart, his back is slouched when it should be straight, his tail is suspended in the air, crooked and limp. He is sure he is missing a step to the routine, but for the life of him, he cannot recall which step he could be possibly lacking.

 

He rehearses the pose again, cursing aloud when he reverts to the same final stance. Another try, the same result. He is too clumsy in his movements, and he only grows clumsier with each new second of aggravation.

 

The words from earlier bounce through his head in a vain attempt to qualm his self-defeatist thoughts: one must have an official Z-ring in order to pull off a Z-move. The chaffing of the cheap plastic constricting his wrist is a constant reminder of the key component he lacks. But that oversight does not ease his troubles. The bracelet does not matter.

 

It is his own shortcomings that prevent him from accomplishing it.

 

Meowth stops his indignant flaunting and takes a breath, trying to bar the tears from flooding his eyes. He slouches his arms against a nearby tree, claws plunging into the wood and sculpting trails through the bark as he drags them through. The patterns that weave through the lumber’s face catch his wandering eye, and so he focuses on them instead of the unwanted thoughts that roam his mind. He traces the lines with his gaze, the cracks that seem to weave into some abstract Rorschach image. In reality, the tree holds no hidden carvings, but Meowth cannot help but see his counterpart's condescending smirk within the lines.

 

Even when he tries to shake the false picture away from his vision, it not only lingers—it grows clearer. Clear enough that he can see the outline of that wretched cat's face, those curled whiskers adorning his cheeks, thick lashes cast over sparkling dagger eyes, fanged mouth twisted into a curvaceous grin. A subject of royalty; James had said something earlier about the Alolan varieties of his kind being descended of aristocracy. Meowth hates that he can see the resemblance in the copycat's beautiful features.

 

Not only is that Alolan cat more cunning and deceptive than him—and more talented, for that matter—he is also the image of elegance, whilst Meowth has always been the dictionary definition of a walking garbage dump. True, he likes to think of himself as more than that; he tries to shed himself in a cuter light, a handsome and charming and every-other-synonym-of-attractive-he-can-think-of kind of light. But it becomes more and more difficult to believe such lies when most everyone around sees him as nothing short of revolting.

 

His Alolan counterpart has style and grace, a polite and sophisticated front that grasps even the stingiest of attention. Sure, that air of royalty is that of a corrupted monarch, but he still commands power and respect. And clearly, he has obtained both. Because even Giovanni managed to see his worth.

 

Meowth slices his claws across the tree's hidden visage. He squeezes his eyes shut, willing the salty wetness not to fall. His claws extend again in faint, wavering beams of light. He barely takes a full breath before unleashing a barrage of Fury Swipes onto the tree's front. Chips of bark soar through the air with each swing he takes, until there is an entire section of the tree that no longer has a covering front to hide away its bareness.

 

Meowth keeps swiping at the naked lumber, but the uncovered trunk's skin is a lot tougher to cut through. No matter how hard he attacks, his claws scrape off nothing more than thin fibers of wood. Frustrated, he pulls back from his assault. He examines his claws for a second, and to his dismay, he cannot help but take note of how much duller his are in comparison to his counterpart's.

 

With a grunt, he extends them again, willing his talons to be longer, stronger. The only extra length he can manage is maybe half a centimeter, barely enough to make any sort of difference. Meowth slashes at the tree again with all the force he can muster, hardly creating a dent.

 

He screams in frustration, swiping again. Then again. And again. With each slash, he tries something different—a different direction, a different approach, a different slice, a different application of pressure and force—just to try and achieve a different result. He tries to force himself to learn a new move: Feint Attack, Thunderbolt, Night Slash, Payday— _ anything _ . Anything to make him slightly less useless of a pokemon.

 

But nothing works.

 

Eventually, his attempts to slice through the tree's trunk grow so futile and cumbersome, Meowth takes to slamming his fists against the wood instead. He dissolves into a fit of yells and cries, hardly noticing the trails of tears dripping down his cheeks. He pounds and pounds and pounds his fists until the only thing he can feel is pain moving its way into numbness, and then he pounds some more.

 

He only stops his rampage once he hears a faint pinging sound and a subsequent rustle behind him. At first, he is at a loss about what has caused such a peculiar sound. But then he catches sight of the makeshift Z-ring around his left wrist, and the loosened strips of tape dangling off with no black crystal left in their hold.

 

And then his anger diffuses into panic. In an instant, he twists around and leaps to the patches of grass behind him. His paws part and tear through the soft blades, desperate to feel the perfectly cleaved edges of the crystal within his pads. But he cannot find it anywhere.

 

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no...” he mumbles on an endless repeat. He continues to search, his movements becoming more and more frantic the more time he spends apart from the gem. Tears gush from his eyes, his breath that of a sharp rasp. “No, no, please,  _ don't do this to me!” _

 

He lost it. He lost it, he lost the one treasure Team Rocket managed to score for themselves in Alola. Their one success that hadn't been ripped away from their grasp. The tiny gemstone that could guarantee their success against the twerps, the one they had nearly been bested by a gang of hoodlums for, and  _ he lost it _ .

 

If Jessie and James hadn't planned on getting rid of him before, they definitely were going to, now.

 

Meowth stops in his search and collapses to the grass, body racking with sobs. He grasps and pulls at the surrounding clumps of greenery around him, not quite uprooting them, but enough to snap a few strands. Pointed claws plunge into his palms, pushing and pushing against the skin until they break through. He hardly notices the pain. He just keeps weeping into the dirt.

 

His cries are so loud, the wild pokemon native to these parts of the forest fear they are listening to the wretched howls of a dying creature.

 

Everything is wrong. Everything, every little thing that he cares about is slipping from his grasp and he cannot do a thing to stop it. He is stranded on a fragment of ice in the sea, piece by piece, the grounding below his feet cracks and drifts away. His foundations shrink smaller and smaller, with nothing to grasp onto, and no one to help him escape. Trapped by his own inability, he sobs as he helplessly watches the chunks float beyond the horizon, his lifeline shrinking to nothingness.

 

Why is he like this? He has no place in his boss's life, no purpose on his team, no great position in the grand design, no use in the world. His potential is dead. His appeal has long since grown stale. He cannot fight, he cannot scheme, he cannot outwit or outmatch a single other organism. He cannot even keep track of one measly rock.

 

All he is, is just a burden on the life of everyone he meets. A burden, and a nuisance. A despicable, annoying pest that people only keep around because they cannot help but be overwhelmed by pity.

 

Everything is wrong, and Meowth only wishes that it would all just stop.

 

He weeps, and weeps, and weeps until his chest grows sore from the relentless hiccups and wails. A cold breeze blows over his form, but he hardly registers the chill. There is an aching in his heart; it rapidly and irregularly pulsates and throbs, choking his throat and searing his eyes. He pulls harder at the clumps of grass and buries his face into his arms. But the sudden pain does not disperse; rather, it heightens with a tightening of his lungs and a piercing buzz in his ears—

 

“ _ Kk..Kkkkkk.... _ ”

 

At the noise, Meowth's fur stands on end. A shiver runs down his spine, springing through his nerves. His eyes pop open. He chances raising his head.

 

Of course, even without the telltale visual that Mimikyu is, in fact, right in front of him, Meowth senses its looming presence like a poltergeist. There is no mistaking that wordless voice like the scraping of nails against glass, that painted face of bloodied mockery. Even when he is in the middle of crying his eyes out, Meowth can't help but still feel a little bit intimidated.

 

But scaring him is not what the ghost is here for. As Meowth's bleary eyes clear, he registers the outstretched claw, almost translucent against the darkened skies. In its clutches, it displays an item so small and so analogous to its scheme, Meowth only identifies the object by its sparkling gleam.

 

Tears continue to trail down his cheeks, but he stifles any more threatening sobs or hiccups with a sniffle. He holds his paw out to reclaim the lost crystal without a word. With a surprising gentleness, Mimikyu places it safely within the cat's hold. Though its tendril is mostly spectral, it can feel the wetness of Meowth's fur against its fingers in the split second of contact they make.

 

Meowth pushes himself off the ground, pouting away from his teammate as he refastens the crystal within the tape. Only once the black gem is safely secured, does he wipe his face dry and acknowledge his new company.

 

“What do  _ you _ want?” He mumbles, then sniffles again. Mimikyu says nothing, for Meowth continues before it can utter a word. “Come to knock me ‘bout how worthless and petty I am? Well, go on, then—spit it out! I'm listenin'! Go on and tell me I'm wastin' my time tryin' to be better. That I can't  _ learn _ anything new, and I can't  _ use _ the stupid Z-move. Just go 'head and tell me how much better that Alolan punk is than me!”

 

Mimikyu says nothing.

 

So Meowth continues. “'Cause you'd be right! He  _ is _ better than me! He's better than I'll ever be! He can actually put up a fight in a battle, a-and outsmart people, too! Maybe that punk was just a big, lousy liar, but at least he got the job done. And he didn't hafta go behind everyone's back to do it, neither.”

 

He never stops crying. And Mimikyu only watches and listens.

 

“Even the  _ boss _ thought he was hot stuff. Just couldn't  _ wait _ to get him in his office. And now that bastard's gonna  _ steal away my spot... _ ” He takes a moment to choke down another sob. “I've been tryin' for  _ years _ to get that spot back... A-and now, some new punk's got closer to the boss in less than a  _ week _ . How'd he spring that?

 

“Guess 'cause he ain't a burden on everyone he meets. He's actually useful... Not just some petty asshole yammerin' on and on 'bout how pathetic he is...” Meowth meet's Mimikyu's gaze again. Anger bores in his eyes, but Mimikyu can feel the overwhelming pain enveloping his soul. But Meowth just scowls at the ghost. “You just gonna sit there and stare all night?!  _ Say somethin'!” _

 

He waits not-so-patiently for a response. At first, Mimikyu only answers his demand with a fixated look. On a normal day, Meowth would be sent into a panic over such stolidity, but today, grief and indignation overcome him instead. He's about to yell again when Mimikyu finally speaks.

 

“ _...What's there to say..?” _

 

Meowth's heart drops. He slumps back to the grass, ears drooping behind his head as he leers at his company. “Gee—you're  _ real _ therapeutic, ya know that?” he sneers.

 

He goes back to picking grass again, because it's all he can do to will his injured paws to do. Now that his rage-induced adrenaline has worn off, the full sting of the splinters and the bruises and the breaks nestle into his skin. Tears idly drip from his eyes at his every wince.

 

“If you ain't here to say nothin', then what do you want?” He asks again.

 

“ _...You left... _ ”

 

“Yeah, so?” Meowth retorts. “'s not like nobody needs me around.”

 

“ _...You're upset... _ ”

 

“Yeah, no shit. I left 'cause I got upset—big whoop.” Meowth stops in his tantalizing to actually consider the few words Mimikyu has shared with him. Then he realizes what the ghost is getting at. “Wait—are you sayin' you... followed me 'cause you saw I was upset?”

 

The fake head dips forward in what can only be assumed is an attempt at a nod.

 

“S-so... You saw all a'...” Meowth raises his battered appendages to full view. They pulsate with pain, tremble the longer he suspends them in the air. He grimaces—maybe he broke something. Or, maybe he is just imagining most of the pain in a vain attempt to gain sympathy. When the pain grows too intense, he gestures to the shredded tree behind him, instead. “... _ That?” _

 

Another 'nod'.

 

Suddenly, he feels sheepish. He doesn't really know why—it's a common occurrence for him to go off on a personal matter and not realize until halfway through that Mimikyu is right behind him, watching. This is no different. Meowth is an emotional creature—surely Mimikyu has been subjected to many a Meowth-brand cryfest in its time in Team Rocket.

 

Of course, most of his cryfests are over trivial things. None of them ever get this... messy.

 

“ _...You're hurt... _ ”

 

Meowth blinks, then realizes that Mimikyu is staring at his injured paws. It makes no movement, and its face is so hard to read, Meowth can't tell what kind of emotion Mimikyu is trying to convey. But he swears he hears some trace of worry in its gargled whispers.

 

He tries to flex his paws, but his fingers refuse to part more than a millimeter away from one another. He bites his tongue at the pain, then clutches both his appendages to his chest. “It's nothin'...” he mutters, though Mimikyu can clearly see through his lie.

 

In the second that Meowth looks away, phantasmal tendrils have wrapped themselves gently around his hands. At first, he is hesitant to the touch, for he knows just how tear-soaked his fur is, but it is such a peculiar feeling that he almost immediately reconsiders. He feels a presence against his skin, and yet also like there is nothing but the chilling night air that brushes so tenderly against it. Mimikyu does not do much with Meowth's paws except cradle them in its deathly grasp and pull them slightly closer to itself.

 

Meowth cannot quite wrap his head around what Mimikyu is exactly doing, but he lets it happen, too exhausted to put up a fight. He hardly notices the stinging in his paws dulling ever-so-slightly.

 

Mimikyu holds Meowth's paws for a few more quiet seconds before it speaks again. “. _..Jessie will fix this... _ ”

 

Meowth cannot resist a scoff and an eye roll. “Yeah, sure—after an hour-long rant 'bout how much a' her time I'm wastin'...” He retorts, and pulls his paws back. “'Sides, she'll probably still be busy reckin' our joint after that Alolan punk chose Matori instead a' her to notice me...”

 

A moment of pause, and Mimikyu tilts its fake head to give a skeptical look. “ _...That upsets you too... _ ”

 

Meowth blinks, a bit surprised at the accusation, but soon grows despondent yet again. “Yeah, well... How would  _ you _ like it if some pompous new lookalike came in and started stealin' away everythin' you care about?”

 

Mimikyu stays deathly silent, but Meowth suddenly gets the feeling from the stringent look in its eyes that maybe that question was the wrong thing to ask. The more time that passes with neither side of the conversation uttering a word, the more Meowth realizes he has struck a chord in his teammate that should not have been touched upon.

 

“Sorry...” he sighs. “Guess youse is a bit a' an expert in that department, huh?”

 

Mimikyu turns away, seeming to accept Meowth's apology, but opting to speak nothing more of the matter.

 

“It sucks, though, don't it?” Meowth continues, regardless. “You think you got everythin', and life's goin' good—then some punk with silkier fur and a shinier charm comes in and takes all a' your friends away from you. Just 'cause he gots a bunch a' spiffy attacks that you ain't got no hope a' learning. In just one day, he gots a better track record than youse. And he's clean, too. He ain't a mess. He ain't a freak.”

 

Though Mimikyu has averted its gaze to the starry night instead of its teammate, it seems to nod solemnly along with everything Meowth says.

 

“Everyone likes him... And everyone wants him...” Meowth breathes out another long sigh. “And suddenly... You're wonderin' why anyone puts up with a scumbag like you.”

 

Meowth hugs his knees to his chest, willing himself to cry again, but it seems as though he has finally run out of tears. He gnaws at his bottom lip, forcing his gaze to shift from his feet up to the blackened night above.

 

Stars twinkle and grin in their peaceful home in the sky, blissfully unaware of the lachrymosity that clouds the earth below. It's not their fault, Meowth cannot help but reason to himself; such celestial beings are born perfect—it is not their fault if they do not understand the blemishes that cause such grief, such anger, such isolation, such self-hatred. It's not their fault.

 

Such a thought doesn't give Meowth much comfort, and he can only assume the same about Mimikyu (should it be thinking the same thing at all). But it's all he can think to tell himself, because he does not know what else to say. True, he can forge up some sort of conception that he is just overthinking this, that there is nothing wrong with him, and that his friends all want him around. And he'll probably believe it, too, for a time. But soon he'll be able to see through his own lies like glass.

 

“Must be nice...” he whispers. “Havin' everyone like youse...”

 

Mimikyu utters out some scratchy sound, but its too garbled for Meowth to quite understand. He just assumes that it's agreeing with him for the sake of conversation.

 

“I-I just wish I was better, ya know?” Meowth continues, as he hates the sound of the dead silence that falls between them. “Battlin' ain't really my thing; never was. It don't matter to me that Jess and Jim don't use me in matches—sittin' on the sidelines suits me just fine.

 

“But then I see someone like that Alolan punk... puttin' a stop to Pikachu like he was  _ nothin'... _ ” The ghost adopts an aura of enmity at the mention of its enemy, but it keeps it together for the sake of giving Meowth the listening ear he deserves. “It ain't that I wanna learn to battle, it's just... That punk's got so much  _ power _ . And then there's me... who can't learn anythin' new 'cause I used up all a' my smarts for...” he gestures vaguely to his whole, “...this.”

 

At his statement, Mimikyu turns with a puzzled look. It eyes Meowth from top to bottom, then averts its gaze, seemingly demure for not realizing his condition sooner. Meowth watches it out of the corner of his eye with a half-frown, something like envy boiling in his stomach's cauldron at the ghost.

 

He gazes back at the sky. “Guess youse don't really got that problem though, huh? You're a great battler. You actually stand a chance against the twerp's posse a' pokemon. Heh...” Meowth manages to crack a small smile. “'s been a while since we been able to match 'em. You're just what Team Rocket needed.”

 

He thinks back to his ruined plan to out the Alolan copycat as a fraud, back when they had Pikachu in their collective grasp. He can't help but laugh a little at Jessie's over-amplified anger at Mimikyu attacking the mouse's prison and unintentionally setting him free. It may have been a detriment to their operation, and he may be in trouble for ever admitting it—especially to Mimikyu, who had definitely **not** planned on allowing its adversary to escape—but Meowth is happy it happened. At least with Pikachu no longer in their possession, the Alolan copycat does not win.

 

But Meowth sighs again. “At least you got that.”

 

Alola has been good to them, in the pokemon department, especially. Sure they're a bit infatuated, overbearing, or just outright scary—but each of their newfound teammates can pull their weight. They aren't burdens, or failures, or screw-ups. They each have their own undefeated demons, but at least they don't let such monsters consume them.

 

Meowth's head falls; he clenches his fists and bites his lip and squeezes his eyes shut. Tears pool under his lids, but none can find their way to the open world.

 

How much longer will Jessie and James put up with him? How much longer will they sit by and expect him to do nothing but tag along for the ride? There have been so many new faces, ones that know what they're doing and demonstrate their strength with ease. So many have threatened Meowth's place in the trio, and not one of them has he been able to chase away by simply showing off his unmatched worth while Jessie and James wonder how they ever could have doubted him.

 

That's never how the story goes. He keeps his position only because the perpetrators move along and find a better opportunity to follow. They lose interest, and he gets to stay because his partners cannot convince them to stick around. He loses them because the writer decides to throw him a bone and let him keep his place in his family out of sheer pity.

 

Ditto, Snubbull, Sneasel, the Alolan copycat... each of them are prime pokemon for the picking, each of them have unparalleled skill and cunning. Each would suit the team's assortment of pokemon perfectly, perhaps perform his part of the motto better than him, too. None of them have lasted of course, but that doesn't stop Meowth from feeling like his world is about to end every time a new one rears its ugly head.

 

It never scared him that Jessie and James could potentially replace him and leave him to fend for his own. What scares him is the notion that they would probably be better off if they did.

 

“ _...They're looking for you... _ ”

 

Meowth swallows his sob, and blinks his eyes dry. “Jess and Jim? I doubt that. They're probably back at the base throwin' a party 'cause I ain't there...”

 

Mimikyu looks at him with skeptical eyes, as if to say, 'are you not hearing what I'm hearing?' But it doesn't say anything else; just turns back to watch the stars.

 

It doesn't say much at all, Meowth can't help but muse. A part of him admires that; especially now, when he realizes that he needed a willing ear to listen to all of his whining. He wonders why Mimikyu came to try and help him at all, if that even was its original intention. It doesn't seem to like him very much; or, he suddenly thinks, maybe it does, and that's the reason why he can never shake the thing.

 

Still, it's overly optimistic thinking Jessie and James would be out searching for him.

 

But then, as Meowth spots the half-moon hanging in the night sky, his ears perk up to a set of familiar voices in the distance.

 

“Meowth? Meeooowth?”

 

“Meowth, old buddy, where are you?”

 

“Wooooooobbuffeeeeet??”

 

His heart skips a beat, and he gasps. He wants to smile—they're looking for him, they actually noticed his absence and went to find him!—but that nasty voice in the back of his head tells him not to get too excited. They're probably just looking for him so they can tell him in person to get lost, it says. To tell him they don't care, that they never  _ have _ cared. And suddenly, Meowth wants so bad to just cry and run away again.

 

Mimikyu growls out another indistinguishable remark, and it's only then that Meowth realizes that it has left his side. It lingers on the edge of the forest, looking back at its cohort, waiting for him to join it. Meowth doesn't budge.

 

So Mimikyu leaves.

 

Meowth huffs and turns away, not bothering to watch it go. He hugs his knees tighter to his chest and buries his face into them. Tearless sobs and piercing gasps tremble his frame.

 

The air runs cold, a powerful gust nearly knocking him on his side. The rustling of the leaves is the only sound he can immediately make out; Jessie, James, and Wobbuffet's calls fade away into nothingness, and Meowth can only assume that they've given up the search. 

 

With the fierce winds, the waves smack into the cliff with even more vigor. Part of him wants to move to the other side, simply so he can watch the destruction and perhaps get carried away with the tides. But that natural cat instinct insists that being lost at sea would be an even more horrible fate, so he stays put, and continues to sit, suffering.

 

“Meowth! There you are!”

 

Before he knows what is going on, a slender yet firm pair of arms scoop him up into the air. They crush him in between two different chests, and another set of limbs wrap around him with the tightness of a coiling arbok.

 

“Why'd you run off? You had us worried  _ sick!” _ James' voice cracks with unbridled emotion.

 

“Don't just leave without saying anything!” Jessie implores with a much less friendly tone, though her distress shines clear through. They both hug Meowth tighter.

 

The cat manages to open his eyes. It's definitely Jessie and James who have found him, he affirms to himself, as if his own ears were lying to him. He's surprised at how worried they both seem, how upset they are acting. The nagging voice still warns him that this is only a ploy, though, so he refuses to say a word.

 

Mimikyu lingers at the humans' feet below him, silent, but still observant of the cat. It seems to be awaiting a scene to unfold, the way its gaze shifts between the three. Wobbuffet yammers about close by, his mouth running a mile a minute, far too fast for Meowth to keep up with. He sounds worried, that's all Meowth can really deduce. As worried as Jessie and James sound.

 

“Are you alright, Meowth? You’re being awfully quiet...” Jessie breaks into his thoughts. James keeps his mouth shut, but his eyes are filled to the brim with the same questioning gaze.

 

Meowth looks to her, then to James, wondering if they really, truly want to know the answer to that question. They wouldn't bother asking if they didn't, the rational part of his brain tells him; they're only asking to make you feel as if you actually matter to them, the nagging voice insists.

 

He wants to reiterate every single little thing he has shared with Mimikyu to them. He knows it will make him feel better, getting his problems off his chest. He knows it will help them understand the hell he is going through. But he is tired, and when he opens his mouth, the only thing he can manage is anguish.

 

He wraps his arms around his friends' necks, and weeps into their shoulders. In between gasps and hiccups, he will try to utter out an apology—for his failures, for his annoying mouth, for his existence—but he cannot seem to force out the words. Jessie and James exchange a look as they soften their tight hold on Meowth, and decide to allay him by giving his back soft, circular rubs.

 

“It'll be okay, Meowth...” James mutters, his fingers gliding against Meowth's fur.

 

Jessie presses her cheek to the cat's head. “Come on. You still have your limited edition Rainbow Triple Berry Rare Cheese ice cream waiting for you. Wobbuffet put it back in the freezer after you left so it wouldn't melt. That sound good?”

 

Wobbuffet whimpers his name in response, forfeiting his loudness for a softer, more worried tone. Meowth lifts his head up, the sound of his ice cream's saccharine title beckoning him forth. It's a dumb thing to feel excited about, but at least it evokes an emotion from him that is not grief. He sniffles and nods.

 

James takes a hold of him while Jessie calls her two pokemon forward. Wobbuffet leads the way back to the base, loudly marching through the night.

 

Mimikyu brings up the tail end of the group, perhaps to avoid the boisterous blue pokemon's side, perhaps to keep an eye on Meowth. Slumped against James' shoulder, Meowth has a perfect view of the ghost. When his tears begin to dry and his throat slackens, he manages to mouth a 'thank you' down to his partner.

 

Mimikyu nods, and keeps close by for the rest of the night.


End file.
